All That Remains
by Earwax
Summary: Post-NFA. Angel and Drusilla at the end of all things.


**Author's Notes: **Yet another post-NFA fic. Not related to 'Wasted Years'.

**All That Remains**

**(An Angel Fic)**

He sits alone now, the last soldier of a climatic battle. He is in pain, Drusilla knows this, but will not offer words of comfort. The Angel-beast does not deserve them.

"Is it over?"

Angel flinches, in agony or surprise, she doesn't know. He says nothing; Drusilla takes that as an invitation to enter the apartment.

"They're dead now," she continues.

"I know," he whispers, still not looking at her. He wants to cry, but the tears will not come. She watches him gently caress a remnant of what looks like a leather duster. She knows to whom it belongs to. The stars have never lied to her yet.

Her William is dead. In her mind he has been dead for years, but now the body is no more. Ashes, she once told him he tasted of ashes. Now he has become them.

Drusilla looks at Angel. He is not her daddy. Her daddy wouldn't have let anything happen to Spike. Jealously, she knows Angelus cared for his boy best of all. He wouldn't have let William die as casually as he would have done Grandmummy or herself.

She can see Daddy now, fighting tooth and nail to free himself from the Angel-beast, but the Angel-beast won't let go. Nasty boy! He has nothing left, why won't he give her daddy back?

"William is gone," Drusilla murmurs, her own words cutting like the sharpest blade.

"Why do you care?" Angel inquires harshly. "You left him for a chaos demon."

Drusilla fights back a whimper. That wasn't very nice, but she can do better. She goes to the couch where Angel sits. Quietly, she kneels before him. "And he left me for your whore."

He strikes her face, something he's only done when she displeases him, however rarely that has happened in the past. She tumbles to the floor.

"Don't call her that!"

Drusilla laughs.

"Why are you here?" He asks this calmly, deliberately. His eyes are old, like that of an ancient one. That must be wrong, she knows Daddy is not old.

"I'm all that's left." Slowly, she moves to take the duster piece from Angel's paw. She knows she's playing with fire, she's been burned before.

He pulls away, clutching the duster remnant as if it contained his much-vaulted redemption. Salvation is found in life, not death, never in death. The Angel-beast should know this. He is not smart like her daddy. Drusilla holds out her palm expectantly and pouts. He looks at her strangely, but gives her the coveted fragment of leather.

The piece is small, no bigger than her own doll-like hand. There is dust on it, dust only she can see, dust that was already scattered to the wind hours before she arrived in that filthy alley crying and moaning and screaming for family.

Drusilla strokes the leather fondly. "My Spike," she coos, frowning suddenly. "You're dead."

She looks back to Angel.

"He was afraid to die. Afraid like Grandmum. He died for you. All for you. You killed him."

"It was his choice." Angel tries to look as if he doesn't care, all the while breaking into little bits on the inside.

"Your choice," Drusilla corrects, "he followed like he always does."

"I tried to save him. I tried..." Angel's voice comes out hoarse. He is choking on the soul.

"He's still gone. He's all alone now."

"Do you know where he is?" Tears pour down his face. Daddy never cried, but this isn't her daddy, is it? She keeps forgetting.

Drusilla shakes her head. "He is beyond the stars' reach."

"I'm sorry, Dru."

The Angel-beast is always sorry. "Empty words, Angel. Hollow with no meaning." She gives him the leather back. He needs it more than she does.

"What are you doing here?" he asks again.

Drusilla ignores him; he's not saying anything worth hearing.

"Darla died for you, for Connor."

He grabs her arm. "You know about Connor?"

She doesn't wince. She's not afraid of him any longer. He can't hurt her anymore. "Who else took my Grandmum from me?" she demands boldly. "It doesn't matter what form you take, Daddy, you're only good at breaking things."

He releases her, staring with wide eyes. He knows what she says is true.

"You broke me," Drusilla whispers. "You broke us all."

"I didn't - I mean..."

"Don't apologize for passion, my Angel. It is that passion that rules us all." She giggles. "Passionate half-breed king."

The silence dances around them.

"I came for my daddy. Daddy of the gentle words and harsh hands. Daddy of the forever nights and endless gifts. Daddy of the needle eyes. I came for the man who promised me eternity long before my Spike could form the words he so cherished. I came for you, Sire." She pauses, eyes closed. "Or, perhaps I came because no one else would."

"You came for Spike."

_Yes, _Drusilla thinks wickedly, _but he is not here. He is burning with the other sinners._

"I came for the one who survived. I came to see it end."

Angel sighs. "Go away, Drusilla, before I do something you'll regret."

"They will find you, Angel-beast. The Wolf, Ram, and Hart do not forget. They do not forgive."

"Not telling me what I don't already know."

Why would she tell him different things? He is too old for new tricks.

"You crucified me. You found me and you crucified me."

His face is stoic, but his eyes - Drusilla knows how much he hates being reminded.

"Innocence. You so loved to destroy innocence. Tarnished beauty, damaged purity. There is no God but you. That was the first lesson; taught with the blood of an entire convent."

Angel just stares onward.

"You'll die this night. Who will mourn you, hmm?"

"Connor," he replies instantly. "Buffy. Maybe even you."

"Yes, but that it not enough. You want your pets. You want Darla, Spike." Drusilla reaches out to stroke his cheek. He does not push her away. "You even want me."

He recoils, no longer welcoming her touch. "I don't want you."

The moon tells her he's lying. "You want family," she says softly. "Always family."

"You want that, Dru." He says this wearily, like he's talking to a child.

"Is it so wrong that we want the same things?"

He doesn't answer her. The pain makes him slow.

Drusilla becomes aware, just then, how empty she feels without another body to comfort her.

"I miss my Spike."

"You left him first," the Angel-beast chides. Will he never let her forget that final mistake?

"He tasted of dust and final death. He tasted of the Slayer's goodness. I knew I couldn't keep him."

Angel's face is damp with tears. He cries the most when William is mentioned. She sees how tightly he clutches the duster fragment.

Daddy is mourning along with the Angel-beast. In his rage, Angelus is pushing against the Angel-cage, but the bars are too strong for him. Drusilla finds that sad.

"He was my brother, my Caligula, my knight. He promised me eternity long after you abandoned us. You both lied," she accuses. "You always lie."

"Dru, things happened, things beyond our control."

Those words strike a memory. Control, it's always been about control. Control of them, control of her. "Eternal torment, little masterpiece, that's all I ever was. I was never meant to survive you."

"You were meant to amuse me. As long as you did that I wouldn't have killed you." He says this coolly, without a hint of malice. He is too defeated to find the guilt that would spur his hatred forward.

"And now?"

"Now it doesn't matter anymore."

"But it does. You made me."

"Of all the things I've ever done..."

"Do not say it!" Drusilla screams, much louder than she intends. "Don't call me a mistake, a regret. Don't call me a sin. I'm your daughter," she exclaims plaintively. "I am your daughter!"

"I'm sorry for that."

"Why?" She needs to know why he hates her so. Why his contemptible eyes hold nothing but pity.

"Because I damned you." He says this so quietly even she can barely hear him.

"And it was a sin?" Drusilla wonders, almost childishly.

"Yes."

"And we will burn for it?"

"Yes."

She accepts that, what more can she do?

"I will burn last," Drusilla decides. "And when you are gone I will mourn you." She smiles. "Blood will cry out for blood. The blood is everything, you know. It is all we have left."

"It's not enough."

"No," she agrees. "Not if they are gone."

She again looks at the Angel-beast's paw. He clings to that leather so very tightly. If it was not in his palm she thinks his nails would have cut into that pretty flesh. His hand would have been covered in little half-moons. He wouldn't like that. She knows he's never cared for the moon, but he is so very fond of blood, so perhaps he won't mind the marks.

She's confused now. Her family is gone. There is no one left. Not even him. She must leave this place - the place that smells so distinctly of Spike, she thinks she'll soon collapse and weep alongside Daddy and the Angel-beast.

But that would be defeat. Grandmummy would be most displeased if she was to display such weakness to a worm.

The night is waning. She'll have to find another shelter from the angry sun. It will do her no good to perish with the Angel-beast. Rising to her feet she pats Angel gently on his head.

He watches her go, but does nothing to stop her. Their time has ended. She'll not see him again.

And, yet, Drusilla knows she will return tomorrow to retrieve what she was unable to retrieve from Spike and Darla - the ashes of family, the ashes of an angel.


End file.
